The Death of Pan: Part Two (complete)

“Please put that out!” Mr. Faire snaps at me.

I keep him at arm’s length as I blow smoke out the door. “Just let me finish!”

Mr. Faire pulls at me, trying to get me to drop my precious cigarette. “Put it out, Hector! Right this instant!”

Haytham sighs heavily. “This is not the time.”

“Who is this man, even?” The dark-haired one demands. He stands from his seat and points at me. “You say it doesn’t matter, but it does! Why are you here?”

“Ask Mr. Faire.” I blow more smoke out the door. “He’s the one who called me.”

Mr. Faire sighs and stands back, smoothing down his coat and frowning at the dark-haired man. “Hector is a detective.”

“And how do you know him?” the blond man asks.

I toss the cigarette butt out the door and close it. “And who are you?” I ask. “You were all in this hall of mirrors when the victim was murdered. Let’s start with that before we worry about me.”

“I am going to worry!” the dark-haired man sniffs. “You’re a detective, but who employed you?”

I look to Mr. Faire, then glance back at the blonde woman. “Hey, you, can I have that gum after all?”

She rises and approaches me. “I thought you didn’t take gum from murder suspects.” She opens up her clutch and takes out the pack of gum.

I snatch a silver parcel and unwrap it. “Well, if you can kill a god with gum, and it kills me, then we’ll know who did it.” The gum is cinnamon. Good.

“He’s been a good friend of mine for a long time,” Mr. Faire replies. “I trust him. So if you are innocent, then allow him to work with you.”

The dark-haired man stares down his nose at me. “You can call me Mr. Goodfellow.”

“Goodfellow?” I laugh. “That’s funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “This is my brother, Dr. Goodfellow.”

I sputter and grin. “Oh, wow, this just keeps getting better and better. So what were you two goodfellas doing here?”

“My wife is extremely pregnant,” the doctor replies. “She sent me out of the house while she decorates the nursery with my sister-in-law...”

“... Who is my wife,” Mr. Goodfellow finishes. “We were supposed to be winning prizes for them when we got trapped in here.”

“Trapped, you say,” I smirk. “How did you get trapped?”

“The mirrors all closed in,” Dr. Goodfellow replies. “They’re supposed to move and change their layout, but suddenly all the exits were blocked off. I got stuck in a hall with the young lady over there.” He motions to the dark-haired woman. 

“And you, good sir?” I motion to Mr. Goodfellow. “Were you trapped as well?”

He glares at me. “I was. I got stuck along the back wall.”

I crack the gum in my mouth. “With anyone?”

“No,” he sniffs. “But I did see someone wearing red run out in front of me and escape the changing of the mirrors.”

“Red, you say.” I pop the gum again. There are only two people here wearing red - the harlequin and Mr. Faire. But the dark haired woman is wearing a burgundy sweater, and that could be taken as red. And I’m not too sure, but I think Pan had been wearing a red hoodie. That could be the blood staining his clothes, though. I turn to the two women. “And what about you lovely ladies? Why are you here this evening? Were you trapped as well?”

“I’m Ophelia, and this is my sister, Sossy,” the blonde woman says. “Sossy just returned from her honeymoon and we were having a girl’s night.”

“And yes, I was trapped with Dr. Goodfellow,” Sossy interjects. “My sister and I got separated at some point, and Dr. Goodfellow was kind enough to offer me his help.”

“I heard a scream,” Ophelia adds. “I was trying to find my way out. I wasn’t even aware that I was trapped. Well...” She shifts in her seat. “I was re-applying my lipstick. When I heard the scream, I accidentally smeared my lipstick against the glass.” She opens her clutch again and produces the lipstick tube. When she opens it, I see it’s squished flat at the top. 

“What sort of scream was it?” I ask as I take the lipstick. 

“It was a man, I believe,” Opehlia answers. “It was just a scream. I’m not sure how else to describe it.”

I nod and give her back her lipstick. “So if we were to go and look, we’d find the mirror with the lipstick smear on it.”

Ophelia glares at me. “Of course you would. Why would I lie about such a thing?”

I pop the gum. “Why indeed.” I glance at the man with blond curls. “You know the drill by now; who, what, when, where..” I look to one side. The clown is using sign language, and the mime is watching him.

The curly-headed blonde scowls, pushing his glasses up the ridge of his short nose. “Mr. Gold,” he grunts. “I was here with my wife and daughter, but my daughter got scared, so my wife took her to go get cotton candy.”

I jerk my head to the side. “And why didn’t you go with them?”

Mr. Gold grimaces. “Whatever accusations you’re making, I do not appreciate them.” He takes out his phone. “I was lost in the mirror maze. It’s part of why my daughter got scared!” He opens his text messages to show me the conversation between him and his wife. “My wife was messaging me to tell me she got herself and our daughter out.”

“Mari,” I murmur as I look at the message. “Cute name.” I look over the timestamps for the messages before he takes his phone away. “So you were lost before you even got trapped. Did you realize you were stuck too, or did something else happen?”

Mr. Gold frowns. “I saw something red, like him.” He looks pointedly at Mr. Goodfellow. “I was following someone wearing red, hoping they could lead me out. But I lost them and, by that time, I found myself wedged in a corner.”

I turn to the clown and the mime. “You two must work here.” I move my finger between them. “Is one of you hard of hearing?”

The clown steps forward. “We do.” He bows his head to me. “And yes, my brother is partially deaf. I’m Bethune, and he is Baird. I’ve been trying to transcribe everything for him.”

“I see,” I murmur. “And what were you two doing in here if you work outside on the carnival grounds?” I point to the door.

Bethune looks me over, then frowns slightly. “There’s usually someone on hand at the house of mirrors who helps people when they get stuck or lost. Since we just came back to the carnival, that’s kind of fallen to us to take care of.”

I smirk. “And there were a lot of people getting trapped tonight, weren’t there?” 

“That’s because the controls for the mirrors were having problems.” He points up to the ceiling which I see is also covered in mirrors. In the gaps I can see the supports holding the mirrors on tracks. “I brought Baird with me tonight because we were having problems. We were trying to get everyone out, but we became trapped in the maze as well.”

“And who does that?” I look to Mr. Faire. “Who operates the house of mirrors?”

He shakes his head. “No one,” his brow furrows. “It’s all on a timer. It’s a program set to run a certain course every half-hour.”

“Then where are the controls?” I point all around the entrance. “Is it somewhere in here?”

Mr. Faire walks over to the wall behind the door and slides open a panel to reveal a small computer. I stand beside him, not really sure what I’m looking at. “Any way to tell if it’s been tampered with?”

“I can check to see who has logged into this computer,” Mr. Faire replies.

“Then do that.” I grimace as I look away from the computer and back at the crowd of suspects. I point at Haytham. “And what about you?”

“Me?” He puts his hand on his chest. “You know me.”

“But were you here?” I point at the ground. “When the murder occurred, were you here or what?”

“Mr. Faire called me to inspect the body,” Haytham answers. “Doctor and all. I confirmed he was dead.”

“But he’s a god,” I say with a grin. “How could you be so sure he was dead?”

Haytham’s eyes widen as he looks down at me. “He had no pulse. He wasn’t breathing, nor has he moved at all.”

“But he’s a god,” I answer. “He has no use for such things.”

There’s a loud gasp from Sossy, who quickly covers her mouth with her hand and cowers against her sister’s chest. Opehlia wraps her in her arms, then casts a glare in my direction.

“Just like in ‘The Princess Bride’ you have misjudged how dead our god in there really is.” I point back through the mirrors. “He is not completely dead, oh, no. No.” I wag my finger in Haytham’s face. “You see, my dear doctor, he is only mostly dead.”

“That’s not a thing!” Dr. Goodfellow snaps behind me.

“Oh good, you’re chiming in. So tell me, doctor.” I pop my gum. “Do you treat gods and demons and deities regularly?”

“Dead is dead!” He throws out his hands. “There is no such thing as ‘mostly dead’ or ‘barely dead’ or ‘hardly dead’. You either are or you are not.”

“Well then,” I sigh. “Our victim in there is still alive.”

Shocked murmurs pass through the room like a wave. Wide eyes and gaping jaws surround me as I blow a bubble with the cinnamon gum. 

“How can you be so sure?” Haytham hisses at me. “I checked him over!”

“Uhm...” Mr. Faire’s exclamation at the computer comes to my attention.

“Something wrong?” I ask him.

Mr. Faire looks at me anxiously, and then back to the screen. “I don’t mean to lessen the drama we have at the moment, but...” He shakes his head. “This can’t be right.”

I walk away from Haytham to rejoin him. “Who signed in, Mr. Faire?”

“It was me.” He raises a hand to his throat. “It says I was the one who signed in. But I never use this system. I only sign in to check on security measures.”

I remember the timestamps on Mr. Gold’s phone. The login with Mr. Faire’s name is just half an hour prior. That means that when all these people came in, the mirror maze would have been reset to allow for a new course to begin. Which means that whoever logged in under Mr. Faire’s name set up the maze to lock everyone inside.

“Yes!” I pump my fist.

“What does any of that matter right now? Is he dead or isn’t he?” Ophelia screams. 

I blow another bubble. “I told you, didn’t I? Oh, excuse me. Let me go ask.” I walk back into the maze. “All of you stay out here, please.”

I return to the center of the round room. Pan is still lying there, and just as I suspected, he is wearing a red hoodie. I kneel beside him just as his reflection comes back into the mirror. He pounds both fists against the glass, shaking the room as I examine his body. 

“It’s about time you came back,” he snarls.

“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-” I mumble.

Pan shifts impatiently. “Are you listening to me?”

“No, I’m not.” I look up from his body. “I can’t see your back, but you’ve been stabbed in the front twenty-one times!”

“So?” Pan asks. “What does the number matter? What matters is that it has happened to me!”

I chuckle. “Twenty-one. Sounds like a good number for a crime of passion.” I mimic a stabbing motion by holding my hands together and swinging them up and down. “You don’t exactly count or anything, you just go at it.”

“What are you going on about?” he demands.

I sigh and click my tongue. “Twenty-one is divisible by seven, now, isn’t it?” I rub my chin, then glance back up at Pan. “You really have no idea who killed you.”

“If I did, do you think I would be held here?” Pan snarls. “I would be hunting them down and killing them myself.” He grins. “Why? Do you know who did it?”

I stand back up. “Nope.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Pan leans closer to the mirror, and all his reflections bear down on me. “Are you having fun playing around?”

“Nope,” I pop the word.

Pan grimaces. “You’re holding me here for some reason,” he hisses. “Keeping me trapped in these mirrors. For what?”

“To keep you trapped,” I scoff. “I wasn’t going to let you get up and run. I’m investigating, and having the victim run away would ruin it.” I’m sick of the taste of cinnamon. I want another cigarette. 

I take a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get the cinnamon flavor to go away. “You blame a curse for the way you behave. You blame the people around you for not helping you. So tell me this, Pan - what are your mistakes?”

“I trust,” he growls. “I trust people. I let them in. I share my soul with them.”

I want to blow smoke in his face. 

“I let myself get used to find peace,” Pan snarls. 

I blow a raspberry, nice and loud. “Victim.”

“How dare you?” Pan roars. “I am laying dead on the ground and you mock me?”

“What about the men and women you’ve harmed?” I snap at him. “The ones you took advantage of? How are you their victim?”

A woman appears in the mirror, with a tattered dress and mud on her face. Around her, reeds bend back and whistle as the wind blows through them. She looks at me with wide, sad eyes. “He promised to love me.” Her voice sounds faint and strained.

I nod my head slowly. “You knew he was incapable of that, right?” 

She shakes her head. “He never told me.” She gasps for breath. “I didn’t learn until it was too late. I wanted to wait, but he told me if it was true love, we did not need to wait.”

“Do you mind if I ask who you are?” I say to the woman.

“Syrinx,” she wheezes. A faint smile comes to her lips. “He said my music was beautiful, the most perfect sound in the world.” The smile begins to fade. “And yet, when I joined his side, I was not allowed to play any more.” The reeds around her whistled tunelessly.

I look around at all the other mirrors. “Did you want to?” 

Syrinx raises her eyes to mine. Along her neck, there are bruises. “After what he did to me, no.”

The reeds close around her, and Pan steps before them.

“How do you explain that away, Pan?” I ask.

“Are you a judge?” He sneers down at me. 

“You don’t get to ask the questions here, Pan. You can only answer.” All I can taste is this stupid cinnamon. “Now, answer me. How do you explain Syrinx?”

“She never told me she was unhappy. How was I supposed to know? She never said a word, never argued, never gave me a reason! It’s her fault for not speaking up.”

I remember the bruises around her neck. “You never let her speak up. You silenced her, I’m sure.” I reach into my pocket, rubbing my thumb up and down my lighter. “You keep your victims and your followers silent. That way, you can use their silence against them.”

“No one understands me!” Pan starts to cry. Heavy tears fall from his eyes and he covers his face with his hairy hands. “No one loves me! No one tries! They all just use me for my power and my influence! No one cares!”

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Stop your crocodile tears, Pan. I know this is fake. I know everything is fake.” I walk over to his body. “This is real. This is what you have done to yourself.”

“What I have done?” he bleats. He looks more goatlike than before. His horns are darker, his eyes are much redder. “Why would I ever ask for this?”

I turn to face his reflections. Behind him, shadows start to rise up over him. “You didn’t ask for it. Of course not. But your actions, your glee in causing others to suffer, is what brought this fate upon your head.”

The reflections turn look at the shadows looming over them. 

“Who are you?” he gasps. He looks back at me with a look of fear on his devilish face. “Who are you?”